Lessons
by TheGirlWhoRemembers
Summary: Everyone is always learning, Ravenclaws in particular. In the midst of a war, Padma Patil learns that there are different kinds of bravery, to let go of her doubts, to have a little faith, and to love. Companion piece to 'Those of Wit and Learning.'


AN: I have no idea where this came from, but suddenly, Padma Patil, Terry Boot, Michael Corner and Anthony Goldstein are taking over my imagination.

This is the companion piece to 'Those of Wit and Learning.' I strongly recommend that you read that first.

There may also be a drabble-esque, 'moments' series revolving around these four, which, so far, is much more light-hearted and less introspective than this piece or 'Those of Wit and Learning.'

* * *

She feels weak, cowardly.

She doesn't have her sister's brazen courage, the heart of a lion.

She has long accepted that she and her sister are different, but she feels such a coward, so weak, compared to her.

She is too fearful to sneak out every night to put graffiti on the walls.

She is too cowardly to assist in the attempted theft of Gryffindor's sword.

She is too weak to stand up in class and make a smart comment of resistance.

No, she counsels the D.A. _against _these reckless petty acts.

No, she helps them in their plot, all the while warning them about the dangers.

No, she does not follow Neville's lead, Seamus's lead, her sister's lead, the Gryffindors' leads, with their resistance.

She keeps her head down, sits quietly, and refuses to blatantly spit out anti-Muggle and Muggleborn prejudice in her essays.

She writes ambiguously, subtly crafting insults to the Carrows, to Snape, to He Who Must Not Be Named.

And she does it without being caught. Most of the time.

She is a Ravenclaw, after all.

She heals the injured, keeping an eye out for those in pain, those hurt, after detentions. She offers comfort when she can, fixing cuts and bruises and broken bones the best she can.

She thanks anyone up there who may be listening, if they exist, that she has not yet been forced to Crucio an innocent.

(She has, however, been forced to Crucio some of her fellow D.A. members. They'd made a pact, at the beginning of their resistance, that they would not resist this. Someone would have to do it. They would bear the pain, the guilt. Better them than someone innocent. If their suffering could distract the Callows from others, then it was worth it.)

They'd signed up for it, after all.

* * *

Her hands are shaking, and her insides heaving, but her face remains carefully blank.

Alecto sneers at her, goading her.

'Well, go on, pretty. We haven't got all night.'

She looks at the boy, _man_, in front of her.

He's in this situation for protecting some Second Years from the Callows' wrath.

He took the blame for them. Claimed he did it instead.

Face impassive, eyes searching hers, clear through his glasses.

_Do it, Padma. Do it. Remember the pact. Be strong. Don't worry about me._

He is brave. He is no Gryffindor, but he is brave.

Anthony, Michael, him, they are so much braver than she is.

She always feels as if she's the weakest, the coward, of the D.A.

The Gryffindors, with their reckless bravery.

The Hufflepuffs, powerful loyalty compelling them to join their comrades in all.

And even her fellow Ravenclaws, the boys and Luna, so much stronger than she is.

She takes a deep breath.

_I will be strong. I must be strong. _

'Crucio!'

She has to mean it. They can always tell if you don't mean it. They will force someone else to do it, or they will do it themselves if she doesn't mean it.

And it is better if she does it, better this way.

Terry screams, and it is the worst sound she has ever heard.

Afterwards, she can barely look at him, and hurries to the bathroom as soon as she can, and throws up.

Again.

And again.

* * *

She meets him in the Room of Requirement later.

He sits there, alone, seemingly fine.

He has been through much more than she has.

He is so much braver than she is.

Wordlessly, she sits on a cushion beside him.

'I'm sorry, Terry.'

He smiles at her.

A weak attempt, but still something.

'It's okay, Pad. You did what you had to do. You were strong, and I'm proud of you.'

She grimaces.

'It's a sick world when one's best friend can be _proud _that you just tortured them with an Unforgiveable curse!'

He nods.

'It's the world we live in, Pad.'

And suddenly, it's like a dam breaks, and the tears start to flow, and her shoulders start to shake.

A moment later, she can feel his arms around her, pulling her close, his glasses pressing into the crown of her head.

And a moment after that, she pulls away, wiping away the tears.

'I'm sorry. I'm sorry you had to see that. I'll stop this foolishness in a moment...I'm sure you're ashamed of me.'

'Pad, you don't have to stop. There's nothing to be ashamed of.'

She shakes her head, furiously trying to stop the flood.

'I'm weak, Terry, I'm a coward! While all of you run around risking it all, what do I do? Nothing!'

Suddenly, fiercely, he seizes her hands.

'You have not done nothing! You are in the D.A.! You heal us, you care for us! You've been _there_, and that is more than many others!'

Tearing her hands from his, she shakes her head again.

'But I risk nothing, Terry, nothing!'

Undaunted, he seizes the sides of her face, forcing her to look him in the eyes.

'You risked when you answered the coin's call and came to that meeting. You risked when you joined that pact. You risk every time you turn in an essay. You risk every time you heal one of us, or anyone else for that matter!'

She struggles to turn away.

'But I haven't suffered for it! Not like you, not like Vati, or Tony, or Mike, or Neville, or anyone else!'

She strokes the back of his hand, where she can still feel the scars. There's a fading gash down his left cheekbone, and here she is, unmarred.

'You've borne more than your fair share of the Cruciatus.'

(That is true. She's been caught a few times, and sometimes the Carrows just hand out detentions to see if they can make the students break. She has refused to break. She has refused to beg, to become what they want her to become. She screams from the pain, but she will not beg.)

'Not as much as anyone else.'

He lets her go, turns away for a moment.

'You know, Pad, remember what Neville said to us? _Bravery comes in many forms._ Sometimes, I think that maybe you're braver than we are, in a way. '

She snorts.

'That's impossible, Terry.'

He turns back, holding her gaze.

'No, it's not. You're always trying to warn the others, particularly the Gryffindors, off their reckless plans. You keep saying how they'll get caught, how dangerous it is, how it's not worth it-'

'That's because it isn't! The Callows, Snape, they'll only put up with so much. Each time they're caught, the chance of them not coming back increases. If they throw away their lives for such petty things, who will be there to fight when the _real _battle comes? We can't win a war this way, Terry, not with what we're doing! The best we can do is to be prepared for when the time comes to fight for real! And we can't be prepared if we're all gone...'

'Pad, that's exactly why you are brave, strong! Sometimes, it takes more courage to bide your time and live to fight another day, than to fight unprepared at the wrong time and go out in a blaze of glory.'

She dries the stubborn tears and takes a deep breath.

'Even so, I feel like I'm not doing enough. I fear the others resent me, or maybe distrust me...'

'Pad, that's preposterous, and you know it. Everyone does what they can. The Gryffindors, well, they're Gryffindors and that needs no explanation. Sure, what they do is usually pretty stupid, but it's them and it's what they do best. Hufflepuffs, they'll follow you to Hell and back, and that's what they're doing, because it's what they do. And us Ravenclaws? Well, I think most of us share your thoughts. It's just you've got better control over your impulses than us boys...'

He knows better than to raise Luna. They fear for her, they all do.

Luna never came back after Christmas. Ginny didn't after Easter. They know Ginny's safe, but no one has heard from Luna.

Everyone fears the worst.

It's a sign of the times that they do.

'...To be honest, Pad, I could never stand up like Neville does, like Seamus does. All I can do is look out for the younger ones, the innocents, protect them, and write essays like you. I guess that's the point of this Army, that's what Neville was trying to tell us. It's that everyone shares a belief, a cause, but everyone contributes to it differently. Each contribution is important and valued, but they are not the same.'

She takes another deep breath, and doesn't resist when he puts an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to him.

'You're such a Ravenclaw, Terry.'

'I know, I'm a genius and you can't live without me.'

They both smile, wanly.

They wouldn't make it through this if there weren't some bright spots.

To cast even the darkest of shadows, there must still be light.

* * *

Padma sits in the Ravenclaw Common Room one evening, staring into the fire.

_Will it really all come down to this? We grow more and more powerless by the day..._

_But we will not give up._

_We cannot give up._

_We may be forced to retreat._

_But we will gather strength for the final battle._

_But what if, what if...if we are forced to give up? Could there be-_

'You alright, Pad?'

'You seem out of it.'

'You've been staring at that fire for over fifteen minutes.'

She turns and smiles softly at the three young men behind her.

'I'm okay, boys, really. Just a little-'

'Worried?'

'Figures.'

'Stop worrying so much. It's bad for you.'

'It will give you grey hairs.'

'I know you love us, and we love you too, but really, we can take care of ourselves.'

She even laughs a little at the last comment. It's so like Michael to bring love into a conversation.

'Has anyone seen my reading glasses?'

She laughs truly at that.

Anthony is always losing his reading glasses. Always.

'Try looking in your bookbag, Tony.'

'Oh...thanks, Padma.'

'Why am I always losing my glasses?'

'Because you don't wear them all the time like Terry over here.'

'Because they keep entering a state of non-being.'

'Terry, are you really suggesting that Tony's glasses keep getting Vanished? I think Mike's explanation makes more sense.'

'What? It's _possible_, Pad.'

'_Everything's_ possible, Terry. It's highly _improbable_.'

'But still _possible_.'

Anthony shakes his head.

'That was a rhetorical question! I didn't mean for it to become a philosophy discussion! And for the record, my glasses definitely can't be exiting existence, because I don't need to re-conjure them every time I lose them!'

'Tony's right, Terry.'

'But maybe your glasses have some sort of spell on them, that causes repeated periods of flickering in and out of existence.'

'But wouldn't the spell therefore cease to exist with the glasses, Terry?'

'Not necessarily, Pad, I mean, if the glasses became part of the greater universe, and just didn't exist in the form of glasses, then the spell could easily keep existing as also a part of the universe, and then re-conjure the glasses-'

He is interrupted by a groan from Michael, who now has his fingers in his ears.

'I think we should just leave it at: Tony just loses his glasses, no more questions asked.'

They laugh.

All four enjoy a little bit of philosophy, a bit of discussion, but sometimes, it can be wearing and exhaustive and also utterly pointless. Unfortunately, philosophy by nature means that you never really find the answer, just a better and better question, and a better understanding of the nature of the question itself.

Padma looks around the little circle, at the three boys, or rather, young men around her.

Terry, Michael and Anthony have been her best friends ever since she started at Hogwarts.

They'd helped her get over the fact that she and her sister where in different Houses, they'd helped her accept that they were different.

They'd convinced her that there were definitely worse things than what they'd termed the Yule Ball Incident, when Parvati all but dragged Padma along to a social event at which she was ignored by her 'date' and flirted with a little too much for her liking.

They'd also helped her concoct a complex revenge plot, which had never actually gotten past Stage One- Pretend to be Keen on Ron Weasley.

They can always find a way to cheer her up.

They're always there for her.

In recent times, Terry in particular.

He's always been the one who understood her the most.

Michael was the brother, the teenage boy with his own issues, terribly imperfect, needing their help more than they need his, it seems, but their great friend nonetheless.

Anthony was the goody-two-shoes, the responsible Prefect. He was pretty awful with emotional stuff, but he tried, and it was endearing and kind of him to do so.

And Terry was the best friend of her best friends, the one who was always there, the witty one, her shoulder to cry on.

She smiles at them all, and the four of them sit in front of the fire, in their own little moment of peace.

And it will be the last in a while.

* * *

Things worsen.

They really do.

One night, Michael doesn't come back to Ravenclaw Tower.

Terry, Anthony and Padma struggle to sleep that night.

Instead, they sit in front of a dying fire together, wide awake.

Padma fears the worst.

Anthony tries to be reassuring.

'We've-we've got to have faith in Mike. He's our friend, and we- we can't give up on him.'

Padma nods slowly.

'I know. But you know me, always doubting, always worrying.'

She doesn't have much faith. Not much at all.

'You think too much, Pad.'

'So do you, Terry.'

A wan smile.

Somehow, the three of them fall asleep just before dawn.

And that is when they hear.

Michael is in the Hospital Wing, grievously injured.

The Carrows had caught him freeing a First Year from the dungeons.

And they had punished him.

Horribly.

* * *

Michael is in the Hospital Wing for a week.

They only dare to visit him for a short time every day.

They don't want to show weakness, emotion, not when it could be so easily used against them.

They can't.

But somehow, he knows they care.

He has faith that they care.

They are his best friends.

* * *

The Callows crack down.

The D.A. slowly retreats underground, refusing to concede defeat.

Slowly, they are forced into hiding. One by one, as their acts catch the Callows' attention, or they simply cannot take it anymore.

First, it is Neville.

He is soon followed by most of his fellow Gryffindors.

It pains her that she cannot sneak into the Room to see them, to tend their wounds, for fear of drawing attention to it.

She is the group's appointed Healer, with the greatest skill. The Room has healing books, and at the beginning of the year, she took it upon herself to learn the skills.

She knew they'd be needed.

It is painful to know that her friends, her comrades, are injured.

It is painful to be separated from them, particularly Parvati.

She misses her sister dearly.

She worries for her, yet she must hide it, stay away from her, for she cannot reveal where she and the others are.

She feels very alone and vulnerable.

At least she still has her boys.

Michael, now mostly recovered, Anthony and Terry.

They're still here for her.

And so is everyone else, she reminds herself.

_Try and have faith. They won't abandon you. You won't abandon them. Don't doubt._

* * *

Michael is the first of them to have to go.

It is expected, really.

He caught the Callows' attention, caught it in a terrible, showy way, so they are keeping an eye on him.

Michael has always wanted to be a bit of a hero.

A fantasy of his, really.

The first thing was freeing that First Year.

They should have known it wouldn't be the last.

He was supposed to lie low, but something in him had changed that night.

He'd snapped.

She'd asked him about it, once.

'_Why'd you do it?'_

'_Padma...I can't explain, really. It just...happened, I guess. Something clicked inside of me, and I just knew I had to do something...'_

She doesn't understand.

He tells her, that one day, she will.

As they leave after breakfast one morning, they walk past a Third Year who has, for some reason, caught the attention of Amycus Carrow.

The Death Eater raises his wand.

Padma is shaking inside, but she refuses to let her expression change.

'Expelliarmus!'

Carrow's wand flies out of his hand.

She feels Terry stiffen beside her.

That was _Michael's_ voice.

Amycus marches towards their friend, and snatches back his wand, pointing it at Michael.

The Third Year is forgotten.

Padma urges her to run, while attention is elsewhere.

Anthony looks like he's trying very hard not to be sick.

_Poor Michael...why'd he have to...what is he going to do?_

'Amycus! Your presence is required in my office immediately!'

Snape's voice.

The greasy-haired man stands at the Hall's entrance.

'But, Severus!'

'Mr Corner can wait! Detention, Corner, tonight, 8 o' clock!'

The Death Eaters sweep away, Amycus reluctantly.

They let out a breath they weren't sure they were holding.

Michael exchanges a glance with his friends.

_I have to go. I'm sorry. Stay strong._

He doesn't attend their next class.

Instead, he joins their comrades in the Room.

* * *

Anthony is next.

It is only the next day, and they are still reeling from the events of the day before.

That very night, he sits down with Terry and Padma, and explains what he is about to do.

He shows them his essay, for Muggle Studies.

He is ferocious and scathing in it.

Blatant, unveiled support to Harry Potter, to Dumbledore.

Blatant hatred of He Who Must Not Be Named, of Death Eaters, of the Carrows, of Snape.

They will punish him for that.

And they will punish him badly.

Padma is surprised the Carrows haven't come for the three of them yet.

Michael is their friend, and the Carrows know that.

Surely they would have thought they might know where he is?

'I'm sorry, Padma, Terry. I really am. They will come down on you for this. But...it's like I can't deny it anymore. I don't really understand why, but I can't deny to myself that I have to do something, that I have to act...'

They nod.

Perhaps they don't really understand yet, but they pretend to.

They trust their friend.

And maybe, just maybe, Padma has faith in Anthony, faith in Michael, faith in the others. She has faith, grounded faith, faith earned, that they are doing what must be done, and faith in their judgement that what they do is the right choice.

_Everyone contributes differently._

_Everyone does different things._

_Perhaps, to me, they are risking everything foolishly, but to them, it may be something that they just have to do. _

_They are my friends._

_I trust them._

_I...I will always doubt them, sometimes...but I have faith in them._

Anthony turns in his essay, then enters the Room the very next period.

* * *

Now, only she and Terry are left, waiting.

Waiting for what, she doesn't know.

She hasn't done enough, not for them to come down too hard on her.

The Callows have noticed that it is their two best friends who have disappeared, and they serve a detention for that, but no more.

It makes sense for them to stay out here as long as they can, so they can protect the younger students, so that they can keep an eye on what is happening out here.

But it is also lonely and painful, she thinks, as they kneel in front of the Common Room fire, tending to their wounds from detention.

_This has to end, someday._

_Someday, I have to understand why Michael and Anthony and the others did what they did._

_Don't I?_

* * *

It actually doesn't take long at all for Padma to understand.

Someday comes much sooner than expected.

It is only two days since their detention, since Anthony entered the Room.

It is an evening, only twenty minutes to curfew, when it happens.

There is a little Second Year boy, nursing wounds, cuts, gashes, from a detention.

She cannot help herself.

There, in the middle of the corridor, she kneels down and takes his hands, drawing her wand, watching with satisfaction as the skin seals itself.

There are tear tracks down the boy's face, and such is her focus on calming him, healing him, she does not hear Alecto's approach.

She is instantly blasted away from the boy.

As she struggles to stand, wincing, from the cold, hard, stone floor, the Death Eater is already issuing her an ultimatum.

'Undo what you're done, pretty, or else!'

Something inside her snaps.

Something inside her clicks.

She knows what she has to do.

She doesn't think, for once.

She doesn't doubt what she's about to do.

She doesn't doubt her own abilities, her own bravery.

_No._

_No, I will not hurt someone I've just healed._

She raises her wand.

Thankfully, the Carrow is standing right next to the boy, clutching him by the collar as he struggles.

She aims, and silently casts.

_Stupefy!_

'No.'

The boy runs, and so does she.

* * *

Michael practically tackles her when she enters the Room.

'Are you staying, Pad?'

She nods her assent.

Anthony smiles at her.

'Do you understand now?'

'Yes. Thank you for waiting for me to.'

She wobbles to her feet, wincing as she feels what will become bruises from her collision with the floor.

She spots Seamus Finnigan, at least, she thinks it is Seamus, for he is so injured he is unrecognisable.

She hasn't been able to heal them for just two weeks, and this is what happens?

She knows that the others know some healing too, but it is evident that they've needed her.

_Everyone contributes._

_In a different way, yes, but everyone contributes._

* * *

'Pad, do you know when Terry will be joining us?'

Michael's tone is light, but she knows what he's asking.

It has been three days since she came here, and he has yet to join them.

They are beginning to doubt.

_Will he ever come? _

_Will he ever realize?_

_Will he ever understand?_

_Has he lost faith in us, in the cause?_

_Has something happened to him?_

She knows that there was something they all had to learn before they came here.

It is such a commitment, to do so. When they join the others in this Room, they put everything they have into the D.A.

It is a pact, a powerful pact.

They give up any chance they had in this hostile new world.

They give up, for many of them, friends, family, significant others.

And there are things they need to learn before they can find that strength to do so.

For Michael, he had to wake up from his dreams, and act in reality. He needed to not only fantasise, dream, about doing things, he had to find the strength to do them. He had to learn that life can't consist of dreams.

For Anthony, he had to let go of trying to understand for a moment, and find the strength to do what must be done, even if he doesn't quite understand why he was doing it. He had to learn to accept what is confusing, for that is what life is like.

For Padma, she had to let go of her doubts a little. She had to find the strength to open herself up to faith, to believe, in herself, in her friends, even if it made her that little bit more vulnerable. She had to learn that sometimes, you just have to believe, even if there are reasons to doubt.

So she tells herself that she has faith in him, because she does.

He has earned it. He's _Terry, _he has always been there for her, he's helped her through these times, he's her best friend, and she _knows _that he won't abandon her, or Michael, or Anthony, or everyone else, or the cause.

She knows that he will find the strength to do it. She knows he has it, somewhere, within him.

She knows and she has faith in him.

So she turns to Michael and looks him dead in the eye.

'He'll come.'

* * *

And he does.

One evening, he stumbles into the Room.

He looks awful.

Cut and bruised and limping, covered with what looks like burn marks.

Her Healer's instincts take over, and she rushes him to the alcove at the corner of the Room, where she cares for her patients.

Michael and Anthony have to help him, for it looks like he has completely spent himself to even get to the Room in the first place.

She shoos Susan and Hannah away when they ask if she wants help, saying that the fewer people present, the easier it will be.

Even Michael and Anthony don't stay.

She knows they'd rather not.

They hate to see their friend in pain.

She cleans the wounds, slowly, surely, and all the while, he watches her, eyes closing occasionally as she swipes disinfectant over the cuts.

'What did you do to get yourself in this state?'

He struggles to answer, his lips slightly swollen and puffy.

'Stood up in the middle of dinner, shouting about Harry and Hermione and Ron and the dragon. Got beaten up pretty bad for it too.'

The dragon. The Gringotts escape. They'd heard about it on Potterwatch, not long ago, and they'd sent a brief coin message.

Obviously, he got it.

'Why?'

He closes his eyes and hisses as she drips Dittany into a particularly deep gash.

'Because I thought everyone needed to know. I thought they needed some hope. Everyone is so down out there, I just wanted to help. It...it gave me hope, so I thought maybe it would give them some too.'

'You don't even believe in hope, Terry. Remember when I used to say that I _hoped_ I would get an O for my tests and essays? You would say that there _is _no hope, there is only knowing and not knowing.'

He opens his eyes and seeks out hers.

'Well, maybe I've changed my mind, Pad. Maybe I know that hope is ridiculous, that believing it makes you vulnerable to hurt when it isn't fulfilled, but maybe I want to believe it, because it makes it a little easier to get through the day.'

She smiles wanly.

'I can understand that. You know how I doubt things, how I don't believe things easily, without proof or reason. Well, I've decided that maybe a little faith is in order, because yes, it does leave you vulnerable, but it also makes your burden lighter.'

He nods.

Terry had to find the strength to bring down his walls a little, the carefully constructed walls that protected him, kept him from being vulnerable, to allow himself to hope. He had to learn that sometimes, being unprepared, being vulnerable, isn't such a bad thing after all.

And it had taken him longer than his friends, but he got there in the end.

She has finished with his injuries now, and the best thing for him now is some rest.

She pours some Sleeping Draught down his throat, and he makes a face.

Apparently, it tastes dreadful.

'You're an idiot, Terry.'

He grins back up at her.

'But you love me anyway.'

And promptly passes out, snoring slightly.

* * *

Padma is left there in shock, his words reeling around her mind.

'_But you love me anyway.'_

He didn't mean it _that _way, surely. They're best friends...and he never says that he loves his friends platonically. He wouldn't assume that they love him, platonically or not, and he wouldn't say it.

Michael is the one who makes such declarations, not Terry. Michael is the one who says that his friends love him, not Terry.

Perhaps it was the Draught talking, but then again, she'd never seen that particular side effect before...

But maybe, just maybe, it might be true.

Only a short time ago, she would have said that she couldn't possibly love him.

Padma didn't really believe in love.

More accurately, she never thought she _could_ fall in love.

She was too rational, too pragmatic, too private with her emotions, too doubtful, too faithless.

She was _Padma, _and while she was considered beautiful, she was not the sort of person that someone fell in love with, and she was not the sort of person who could fall in love.

She couldn't release the doubts she had about love as an idea, about anyone, to love them. She couldn't release the doubts about herself to be loved, and believe that she was loved.

But she couldn't deny that she cared for him.

She couldn't deny that she felt pain in her core when he'd entered the Room, so badly injured.

She couldn't deny that his screams still haunted her.

She couldn't deny how terrible she'd felt when she had to hurt him.

She couldn't deny that he really could make her feel better, understand her, cheer her up, be there for her.

She couldn't deny that she felt comfortable with him.

She couldn't deny that she respected him greatly.

She couldn't deny that she sometimes felt, in better times, _something _in her stomach when he touched her, or hugged her, or grinned at her.

Was that love?

Perhaps it was.

Perhaps it could be, given enough time.

It wasn't as if she couldn't live without him, and she knew it wouldn't be like that, not her version of love, if it ever grew to that. She didn't necessarily _need_ him, and she wouldn't die without him, but, truthfully, things were _better _with him, happier with him, lighter with him.

She would probably never invest herself so heavily within a person, within a relationship, that she couldn't live without them. Even with Parvati, she wasn't like that.

If love was like that, then she wasn't in love with him.

But _was_ love like that? Or was that only in books, in fairytales?

And the greatest question of all, why Terry?

Why him, out of all the people in the world?

He was her best friend.

But so were Anthony and Michael.

They were all her best friends.

But she'd always been closest to him.

He made her laugh.

So did the other two.

He understood her.

So did the other two.

But not as well. He'd always understood her the most.

She was comfortable with him; she could show her emotions around him.

And she could around the other two as well.

But not everything, not all of it, if she was completely honest.

She could around him, and he around her, because they are so very alike in that way.

Perhaps that's why.

They are alike.

She'd never really believed in opposites attract.

They were alike in the sense that they were both logical, rational, pragmatic, intelligent. They both liked to keep their deepest emotions under wraps, they were both a little private and reserved about them.

Neither of them were really romantics.

Neither of them had really believed that they could fall in love.

She'd seen him around other girls, she knew him.

He wouldn't risk his heart like that. He wouldn't let himself.

Their differences were there, too. They had different favourite subjects, different talents when it came to schoolwork. He was confident, and she doubtful. Yet they learnt so much from one another.

Maybe that was a reason why too.

He was, in fact, the only male in their little group who hadn't actually had feelings for her or a crush on her at any point.

There was Michael, in Third Year. Michael would risk his heart on almost anyone, and it would hurt him terribly.

There was Anthony, back when they were in First Year. He'd been terrified of her, not sure what to do or how to act, because he hadn't realized what his heart was about to do until it happened.

Maybe that's why she could fall in love with him.

Because they could both love in a similar way.

Privately. Pragmatically. Slowly.

In some sort of mutually-educational, symbiotic way, maybe they could both learn to love one another.

Because she was definitely learning to love him.

In a way, learning was a better term for what she was feeling than falling.

Michael fell.

Anthony sort of tumbled.

Maybe she learnt.

She didn't quite know why, or how, but she felt something for him that she hadn't felt before. She would try and stop doubting, stop doubting love, him, herself.

Because it was _Terry _and she trusted him, and had faith in him, and he had earned it, and repaid it, and just maybe he would learn with her.

And if he didn't?

Well, she had pretty good grounds that he would.

She was pretty sure that he would.

And if not?

Maybe it was time to take a chance.

It was a little late for her to turn back now, anyway.

They could literally die any day now.

She was willing to put faith in him.

She wasn't quite sure how, or why, but she had found the strength to allow herself to learn to love him.

Hopefully he would too.

* * *

Unbeknownst to Padma, Terry, floating in that strange limbo between sleep and wakefulness, had just come to more or less the same conclusion.

There was the possibility of _something _between them.

Something growing, something they were both learning, slowly, something they could possibly one day share and understand.

It had already started to grow; he'd already started to learn.

It was possibly a little too late to turn back.

He would take that risk. He would take the risk that she didn't feel the same way, that it could all go wrong, that it could fail. He would take the risk that it would hurt him, like he'd observed love do. He would open himself up to it, instead of pushing it away.

Perhaps it wasn't actually that big a risk in the first place.

He'd risked a lot lately.

It put things into perspective.

And he'd already risked quite a bit in growing so close to her, so fond of her, in the course of friendship.

And it hadn't gone wrong, it hadn't failed.

He could risk a little more. The odds were in his favour, the evidence pointed towards success, rather than failure.

And maybe because it would be slow, they would both be learning, trying to figure it all out.

Learning isn't like falling, you see.

When you make a mistake while learning, it isn't the end. It just means you need to go back and rectify your mistake, to re-learn, to practice a little more.

He would take the risk.

He would let himself learn to love her, instead of trying to force his heart back inside a safe.

He was pretty sure it wouldn't fit back inside.

* * *

Terry opens his eyes, blinking at the sudden light.

The alcove is dim, but still brighter than the inside of his eyelids.

She's sitting on a chair beside him, watching.

'Terry, I...'

'Pad, I've got something I have to say...'

'You go first.'

'No, ladies first, I insist.'

She takes a deep breath.

'Terry, you mean an awful lot to me...well, I was really scared when I thought you might not be coming, but then you came and...Do you remember what you said before you fell asleep? You said...well, I think I might, sort of, well, it's kind of like learning to, really...but in a non-platonic fashion, not like Mike or Tony...that didn't make any sense, did it? It sounded a lot better in my head...'

He heaves himself up into a sitting position and smiles at her, taking her hands in his own.

'Don't worry, Pad. I understand. In fact, I was just about to say the same thing, or more or less the same thing.'

She smiles back, the easiest and happiest smile he has seen in a while.

'I'm sure you would have been much more eloquent than I.'

He pulls her closer.

'It's nice to see that I can reduce one of Ravenclaw's finest to babbling.'

She gives a half-laugh.

Considering the times, that's an excellent result.

'Yes, yes you can.'

She stands, bringing them to a similar eye level.

He leans his forehead against hers.

A promise is reflected in their eyes.

_When this is over, should we both live, we're going to explore this new idea, this new discovery together. We're going to learn about it, try and understand it and make something, grow something from it. _

_We're going to learn to love one another._

* * *

Though it feels a lifetime away, it is only mere hours later that the Battle of Hogwarts begins.

They sit next to one another, opposite Michael and Anthony and Cho, at the Ravenclaw Table.

They will stay to fight. There is no question about that.

As their House stands around them, ready to leave, Terry reaches for Padma's hand, squeezing it gently.

_Be strong. Be brave. _

She squeezes back.

_You too._

There is no point telling one another to be careful, and they know it.

This is war.

This is it.

The final battle.

* * *

Terry doesn't see her again, not for sure, until the ceasefire.

He and Michael are helping to carry the wounded and dead inside.

Earlier, they had borne a wounded Anthony to the Healers.

It had been gut-wrenching, watching one of his best friends in that much pain.

It had been a blessing, almost, when unconsciousness had overcome Anthony as they entered the castle.

They had left him with the Healers, who they knew would do their best.

That is the most that can be asked.

Most of those tasked with caring for the injured are not Healers themselves, not with the training of those in St Mungos.

But this is a war, a battle, and they must make do with what they have.

He desperately hopes that Anthony will make it.

He desperately hopes that Padma is alright.

The two friends walk in silence, supporting a limping Ernie Macmillian back to the castle.

In the Entrance Hall, they pass a distraught and hysterical Parvati, and Hannah trying valiantly to calm her, pacify her, _stop_ those horrific screams.

Something twists in Terry's stomach.

He exchanges a glance with Michael, then with Ernie.

It is clear that Parvati's screams haunt and hurt them all.

They reach the chamber set aside for the injured, and find the source of Parvati's distress.

Lavender Brown, Parvati's best friend, is motionless and still, Madam Pomfrey attending to her.

Her body, her face, are covered in scratch marks, in bites.

_Like from a werewolf._

Almost unable to look away, Terry and Michael help Ernie on to a free bench nearby.

They stand, ready to go and help more injured seek medical attention.

_And to bring in more bodies._

And then he sees her.

_Padma._

She's alright.

She's kneeling beside a makeshift bed, wand out, a bag of medical supplies beside her.

Healing.

With a glance at Michael, he walks over to her, while his friend exits the chamber.

As he nears, he realizes who lies upon that bed.

_Anthony._

She doesn't look up as he kneels beside her, instead finishing her incantations and grabbing a cloth to sponge some of the sweat and grime off their friend's forehead.

He can see it in the way she sits, the way she holds herself, that all is not well within her.

Considering the situation, he thinks dryly, she is holding up quite well.

He reaches out, and takes her in his arms for a moment, reassuring her that he is there for her, and that she is not alone.

She holds him back, offering the same reassurances, the same promises.

And then they let go.

He looks over at Anthony, who is deathly pale and still. He can only just see the rise and fall of his chest, and for that, he is grateful.

'Will he be alright?'

She bites her lip.

'We don't know. He's fine for now, stable...but if we don't get him proper care, he'll deteriorate. The next twelve hours are going to be very important...'

He squeezes her hand gently.

'You, all the Healers here, you've all done a good job. You've done the best you can, and no one can ask you for any more.'

She nods numbly, and they stand.

'I know.'

They are silent for a moment.

He notices the cut down her right cheek, shallow and dried, the burn mark on her left hand, her singed and chopped hair, that when she stands, her legs shake.

She notices the makeshift bandage wrapped around his left arm, stained with blood, the burn on his forehead, and the cracks in the lenses of his glasses.

They are both very thankful that it is nothing more. So many others are worse off than this, and this is all minor.

They've both seen worse.

'You've hurt your arm.'

He glances down at it.

'I know. But it's fine, it's not bleeding anymore. I'll be alright. Don't waste your time looking at it; you have others to look after.'

But she points her wand at his left arm anyway, and he watches as the bandage vanishes and his skin seals itself.

She also points her wand at the bridge of his nose and mutters 'Reparo.'

'Your glasses were broken, and you didn't even repair them.'

He shrugs.

'The world's just cracked open...so maybe I didn't notice.'

She smiles wanly, rests her hand on his newly-healed arm briefly, and hurries off to see to Cho Chang.

He exits the chamber, only to be greeted by the sight of Oliver Wood bearing the body of Colin Creevey, the little boy with the camera.

He is so small in death.

He swallows and turns away.

* * *

They stand with the rest of the D.A., with the rest of the survivors, the fighters, as He Who Must Not Be Named and his Death Eaters march towards the castle.

They watch, transfixed, horrified, as they see Harry's body.

They cry out and call out and scream and shout with everyone else.

They watch in fear as Neville breaks ranks, as the Hat is placed on his head, and like many of the D.A., they take that half-step forwards, unable to bear what may happen to the man who has become their leader.

And they scream with the others as the Hat is ignited.

Then chaos and confusion follows, curses all around, fighters pushing one another, struggling.

They watch as Molly Weasley and Bellatrix Lestrange duel, as He Who Must Not Be Named fights Professor Slughorn and Professor McGonagall and Kingsley Shacklebolt.

And they are there for that moment, that unbelievable moment, when The Boy Who Lived is revealed to have lived yet again.

They watch, unable, incapable, of anything as the two mortal enemies face off, in what would be the final confrontation.

And they celebrate when He Who Must Not Be Named is vanquished and their hero is victorious.

These moments fly by; they are fleeting, confusing, blurry.

There is no sense of self in these moments, only sense of a crowd, of a collective.

Later, when they try to remember, they will struggle. There will be moments of poignancy, of the earlier battles, of the dead, of the injured, but this, this will be a blur.

They will remember the joy, and the relief and the shouts, but it will all be indistinct.

* * *

He doesn't quite remember how long it takes him to find her, nor where they actually meet.

She doesn't remember either.

All that matters is that they are both alive, her sister is alive, most of their friends are alive, and they have won.

It is over.

The war is over.

They cry and laugh and commiserate and eat with everyone else.

It is over the following days that it will begin to hit them exactly what has happened and who has been lost.

It is a couple of days before the entire collective idea fades, and everyone retreats into themselves, into solitude, to mourn and heal.

One night, two days after the battle, she seeks him out, and they simply sit there, in complete silence, until they both fall asleep.

She tells him the next morning that that was the first time she'd managed to sleep since the battle.

It is the same for him.

* * *

They visit Anthony in St Mungos.

He is alive, and he will recover.

It will take him a while, but he will recover, thanks to the battlefield Healers who tended to him.

He is so much luckier than many others.

Anthony is glad to see his friends, glad to have some distraction from the boredom of the Hospital, from the horrible potions he has to take.

The four of them, Anthony, Terry, Michael and Padma, spend an afternoon together in the ward, and it is almost just like old times.

Almost.

They all bear new scars, new knowledge.

They all have nightmares, they know it.

Their dark-rimmed eyes are proof.

But still, they try to be cheerful, they try to live, celebrate that they are alive.

They have newfound strength from this dark year, from these dark times.

They have learnt so much.

It will take time, but they will recover.

Their lives will be better, for they are stronger now.

The future is bright.

And they are going to seize it.

* * *

'Pad!'

She whirls around at the sound of the familiar voice.

She is at the Ministry, and it is the end of August.

N.E.W.T make-up exams have just finished.

Due to the special circumstances, the exams had been postponed as far as possible, and she has just finished her last.

There had been remedial classes held at the Ministry, and students who wished to were able to attend and finish their education.

Of course, Padma had been one of those students.

Anthony had still been too weak and too infirm to do so, and was, predictably, quite furious and upset. However, he had been promised the opportunity to retake his classes and the exams later in the year, when he had recovered.

Michael had decided against it, and like many others, her sister included, taken up Minister Shacklebolt's offer of allowing Battle veterans to begin Auror training without N.E. .

But Terry had attended classes with her, and sat the N.E. with her. They had spent three months studying intensively together, and things were changing between them.

Slowly, but they were changing. Something was growing, something_ more_, some bond more powerful than they'd had before. In some ways, it was different, in some ways the same.

But it was _better_.

She smiles at him as he comes up to her.

'Happy it's over?'

'Immensely. How do you think you went?'

He shakes his head.

'Never going to change, are you? Fine, considering the circumstances. You?'

She takes a deep breath, but he interrupts her before she can say a word.

'If you say terrible, then I'm going to-'

'I was going to say, I think I did alright!'

'Good! Still planning on becoming a Healer?'

She nods.

'And you? Still planning on joining the Ministry?'

He nods.

'Yes, probably the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. They need all the wands they can get at the moment.'

'Of course. But I remember you telling me once that you wanted to invent new spells, to work in Charm development or something like that.'

He smiles.

'Once upon a time, I did. That was my dream, but then the War happened, and now I know that there are other things I have to do, other more important things, and maybe, I _want_ different things now. But it must be the same for you, surely. Once, you wanted to be an Unspeakable, to work in the Department of Mysteries, investigating mysteries and finding answers, reasons.'

She looks up at him.

'I know. But Healing is more useful, and I found in the War that it may well be my calling, Terry. It might be what I am meant to do. The War changed things, and for better or for worse, now I want to be a Healer...But-but that's not the only thing that I learnt in the War, and this other change has definitely been for the better-'

She doesn't get to say anything else, because next moment, he's pressing his lips to hers, and her mouth becomes otherwise occupied.

It is their first kiss, and of all places, it's in the middle of an empty corridor at the Ministry.

Most people don't wait three months for a kiss.

Most people don't take seven years to realize that they might have something with their best friend.

But then, she's pretty sure that they're not most people.

'And about time, too! Honestly, I thought I'd have to knock your heads together or something!'

They break apart, to be greeted by the sight of Michael and Anthony, who is still limping and being supported by various braces and crutches.

'Mike, you had absolutely no idea about the possibility of us for years. Stop going on like you've known it would always happen.'

'Just because I didn't say anything doesn't mean I didn't know, Terry!'

Padma rolls her eyes and turns to Anthony.

'Tony, should you really be up and walking?'

'The Healers said I could! You're not one yet!'

'He's got you there, Pad.'

She shakes her head.

'You three will never change.'

They smile, looking around at one another, the four of them.

And the four friends walk, slowly, to the end of the corridor, and exit the Ministry, into the sunshine outside.

* * *

Tomorrow will be the day.

Tomorrow marks one year since the fall of He Who Must Not Be Named, of Voldemort.

Padma sits with her head on Terry's shoulder, watching the stars above them.

They used to watch these together, the four friends, from the windows of Ravenclaw Tower, and they bring back happy memories for the both of them.

'You know I love you, right, Pad?'

She smiles.

'Yes, I do, and I love you too.'

_Tough times teach lessons._

_Different people learn different lessons, and some lessons everyone learns._

_Some lessons begin in tough times, and continue in better ones. Some are the reverse._

_Some lessons are learnt quickly, and some take a lifetime._

It's taken a year for them to get to 'I love you', but it's been worth it.

* * *

AN: So, what do you think? This piece, and Those of Wit and Learning, are a bit of an experiment for me, this one in particular. I've delved quite deeply into the minds of the characters, and I'm not quite sure how it went. The main concern for me is that they don't seem believeable...


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